


Apartment Life

by HapticFeedback



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), What's Your Number? (2011)
Genre: Apartment AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 16:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4753919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HapticFeedback/pseuds/HapticFeedback
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: "i want an au where steve and tony live in apartments next to each other and steve is a struggling artist/grad student and tony is the 21-year-old genius with a doctorate already under his belt who’s just been disowned by his father and is now trying to figure out how to live a normal life on his own"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apartment Life

**Author's Note:**

> I am sick. I hope this story pleases you, internet, because this is what comes of you casting your desires into the void when I am weak and susceptible to them.
> 
> You know, you think Howard Stark is being greedy for wanting Captain America's blood to cure the common cold right up until YOU HAVE A COLD AND OH MY GOUDA GIVE HIM ALL THE BLOOD, PEGGY! GIVE IT!

It was 4am in the morning at apartment 4F. _4\. A. M._ and Steve Rogers had to be up in just two short hours to get ready in time to catch his train into the city. He should be asleep. Should have _been_ asleep hours ago. Instead, he lay awake listening to the increasingly desperate sobbing filtering through the thin wall that separated him from 4E.

4E. What an asshole. Steve wouldn’t put it past the guy to have somehow found out about Steve’s anatomy final tomorrow and be doing this just to mess with him. The three weeks since the guy had moved in had been an ode to psychological warfare replete with rock music blasting at odd intervals throughout the day and night. Steve was a good neighbor. He’d baked a damn apple pie and everything to take to the new guy. What did he get in return? Not so much as a name.

_“I don’t like to be handed things.”_

_“Uuhhh…” Steve. Ever suave. “Okay, I could just set it on the little table…”_

_Steve stepped into the doorway expecting 4E to move. He, of course, didn’t budge so much as an inch, and suddenly Steve was very much in his personal space._

_“So, do you know Macklemore personally?”_

_“What?” Steve could feel his traitorous ears prickling with the beginning stages of a blush. He mentally ran through a list of their neighbors. Maybe it was a nickname._

_“Macklemore? Think Eminem with fewer mommy issues. I was just wondering if he based that song on you specifically because you do happen to look incredible in my granddad’s clothes.”_

_Steve’s blush ratcheted up to full burn. Maybe the plaid button up had been a bit much. He shoved the pie plate into 4E’s solar plexus hard enough that the guy’s breath came out in a little oof sound. Probably the only way to get the guy to shut up. Steve retreated quickly, not caring whether or not the guy’s reflexes made him catch the pie plate or if it shattered on the floor. His good Pyrex dishware be damned._

Steve was flushed with shame and humiliation again just thinking about the incident. Most of his clothing _**was**_ from the thrift shop. He’d had to look up the stupid song, and he’d nearly jumped out of his skin when the speakers were turned up louder than he’d expected. 4E’s laughter had been quite clear through the walls…almost as clear as…

Well, first there had been explosions. A terrifying amount and variety that had somehow not leveled the whole complex, despite setting off every smoke alarm in a three block radius. It was surprisingly easy to learn to ignore these as they were almost always preceded by a cry of “FOR SCIENCE!” and rarely ever happened at night after that fifth visit from the police.

What happened at night was…uh…was a little harder to ignore, but Steve had invested in earplugs. And earmuffs. And had moved his bed to the opposite wall.

…And then had resigned himself to sleeping on the couch whenever he saw a lady on the stairs.

But this, though, _this_ was cruel and unusual punishment. Listening to the guy cry for literal hours with increased intensity was _torture_. Couldn’t 4E do _anything_ quietly? Steve huffed out of bed and into a tank top and sweats, ready to read the guy riot act.

Steve banged on the door to 4E with a little more violence than was strictly necessary and wasn’t entirely through banging when the door flew open.

“Ow! Jesus _what?!_ ” 4E rubbed at his shoulder where Steve’s fist had landed.

Steve almost apologized before he glanced a little lower and… “Oh my God.” His eyes shot up to the horrible, 90s popcorn ceiling. “ _Where are your pants?!_ ”

4E had nothing but a dishtowel covering his junk.

“Where I was! In my apartment! Alone. Together. Bothering no one. Just me, my pants, and I.”

Steve couldn’t help meeting the guy’s eyes again with an incredulous eyebrow raise. “Bothering no one? You were sobbing for hours.”

4E flinched—actually, physically flinched away—before bringing the dishtowel up for a quick swipe at his damp eyelashes. Like he was removing incriminating evidence. 

God, Steve felt like such a bully. His gaze fixed once more on the peeling patches of stucco, Steve took in a deep, calming breath. “Look, whatever this is, just put some pants on, and we’ll figure it out. Together.”

4E slumped against the doorframe, burying his face in the crook of his elbow. He looked utterly exhausted. His voice was muffled when he answered. “I don’t have any pants to put on. All of my clothes are filthy, and the washer from hell keeps eating my attempts at self-sufficiency. Thus, the…manful tears.”

That explained a lot, actually. How all of the crying had gone from angry to “ _ow, my fucking haaaand_ ” to frustrated to the weak but penetrating sobs of the completely and utterly defeated.

Steve sighed. At least he had on boxers. He shucked off his sweats and tossed them at 4E. 

The guy looked startled as the fabric collided with him. “Did you just literally give me the shirt off your back?”

“No. I _literally_ gave you the pants off my ass. So, howsabout you at least tell me your name?”

4E rolled his eyes as he tugged on the pants. When he caught Steve’s face still somewhat impatiently waiting for an answer, though, he frowned. “Wait, you mean you don’t kn…” He seemed to almost swallow his tongue as he cut himself off, like he didn’t have a lot of practice controlling what came out of his mouth. His words seemed to trip over themselves, after that. “I mean, um, why would you? I didn’t introduce myself the other day. I’m Tony?” It sounded a lot like a question. He stuck out his hand, the one holding the towel that had covered his dick not a minute ago. Tony seemed to notice this with chagrined horror and threw the towel indiscriminately behind him. “Would you like to come in, uh…?”

Tony seemed to be drawing a blank. His eyebrows furrowed. Before the word Macklemore could finish forming on his lips, though, Steve helpfully supplied his name. Again.

Steve, tired and cranky, stepped around Tony and into the apartment when 4E didn’t actually move out of the way despite his invitation. Steve knew right where to head for the laundry nook as the floor plan mirrored his own.

“I can take a look at the machine. If it’s something easy, I can fix it. Otherwise, you might have to get the landlord to call a repairman and… _WOW_ …” Steve stopped dead in the middle of the kitchenette. Around him lay the methodically dissected corpse of what he could only assume was once a washing machine.

Steve scrubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah, I think I see your problem.”

Tony started babbling again, after that, something about “definitely fixable” and a “PhD in Engineering” and just on and on while Steve formulated a plan.

“Alright!” Steve snapped, and Tony immediately fell silent. Steve winced and softened his tone. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do: we’re not going to panic. You will grab your laundry and rendezvous with me in my apartment where I will show you basics such as not using dishwashing packets for your clothes and _emptying your pockets of wrenches_. At precisely 0600 hours, you will exfiltrate the apartment building and acquire for me—by whatever means necessary—the strongest cup of coffee available in a five minute perimeter.” Steve grabbed Tony by the shoulders, a more than slightly manic set to his eyes. “Do you think you can succeed within these mission parameters?”

“Uuhhh…exactly how much Call of Duty do you play?” Tony capitulated quickly, though, when Steve gave him a frustrated shake. “Yeah, sure, whatever you say. Aye aye, Captain and all that.”

Steve headed for the exit, expecting his orders to be carried out. He paused halfway there, though, to angrily snag something out of Tony’s overflowing sink.

“And, I’m taking my fucking pie plate back!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony is definitely going to gloat to Rhodey about making a friend "all on my own, thank you very fucking much."


End file.
